


we like stems! we like seeds! where i come from

by temporaryforce



Series: hxh weedcanons [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 01:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporaryforce/pseuds/temporaryforce
Summary: kurapika smokes a joint
Relationships: Kurapika & Senritsu | Melody (Hunter X Hunter), Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter) & Original Male Character(s)
Series: hxh weedcanons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207940
Kudos: 4





	we like stems! we like seeds! where i come from

**Author's Note:**

> me: who is the biggest stoner in hxh
> 
> ronald: i...ging  
> ronald: followed closely by kurapika
> 
> me: it makes me so mad that youre not wrong  
> me: i was going to say kurapika
> 
> ronald: the difference is that ging mostly smokes his own shit, which is insane souped up 75% thc nen weed
> 
> me: in my head kurapika doesn't drink because he dislikes any loss of control but for some reason stoner kurapika makes sense
> 
> ronald: kurapika however buys ging's weed by the ounce through the dark web  
> 

In retrospect, Kurapika should have seen this coming. The guy who had approached him on the street corner was nice enough: he had an open, beguiling face, floppy dark hair, and sharp eyes that were the only obvious indication of his Hunter status. He’d been lingering a few doors down, sucking on a cigarette, as Kurapika had gone into what he’d been quietly informed by one of his recent neighbors was a hiring agency for Hunters: a nondescript little shack with a white awning in front and a single pink sign in the window that read _OPEN._ Kurapika had exited not three minutes later, after being politely informed by the desk clerk that they were not a hiring agency, but a discreet matchmaking service oriented towards Hunters with unusual proclivities. The stranger— who had slouched over closer to the entrance while Kurapika was inside fighting to remain stoic under his mortified blush— had broken into a grin.

“You, too, huh? I’m telling you, everyone around here thinks it’s funny to prank newbies by sending them to Mama’s.”

“Mama’s?” Kurapika said, caught off guard by the stranger’s directness.

The man jerked a thumb over to the door Kurapika had just walked out of. “Mama’s. Premiere matchmaking service for Hunters of _all_ stripes, but especially the funky ones. Pay extra and you get a reading from Mama Jana herself. I hear she can look right into your mind and tell you all about what you didn’t even know you wanted.” He let out a puff of pungent smoke.

“Right,” Kurapika said, unamused. He wasn’t sure if the guy was flirting, but regardless, he certainly wasn’t in the mood to respond in kind; he was more than a little irritated at today’s dead end. It had been a few weeks since he’d passed the Hunter exam, and it was proving more difficult than expected to find a reputable hiring agency with connections to the kinds of clients Kurapika was after. The embarrassment of his mistake only added insult to injury, and he didn’t have the energy to find the humor in it.

The stranger certainly didn’t share Kurapika’s difficulty. “Tough crowd, huh,” he said into the chilly air. “Man, excuse my saying so, but you look like you could use a bit of grease for that stick up your ass. Here you go, sweetheart— top shelf.” With exaggerated motions, he took a puff off of his cigarette and then held it out, pinched delicately between his long fingers. It looked hand-rolled, like the ones Leorio would smoke, a little tapered and translucent in comparison to the white-papered sticks that came in cartons.

“No, thank you,” Kurapika said frostily, stepping past him. “I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

The stranger burst into laughter, coughing around another mouthful of smoke. “Oh, that’s good,” he said. “Whoo! Where you from, stranger? I promise, this’ll fly you higher than you’ve ever been before.” He enunciated the last few words carefully, as though his tongue was taking up too much space in his mouth. “Hunter grown. In my own backyard, even.”

Kurapika was just bemused enough to stop walking, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What do you mean?” he said. He’d long since let go of any shame about asking for clarification around cultural or linguistic unknowns. Better to ask and understand than to stay quiet and commit some kind of faux pas. “You’re not smoking tobacco, then?”

“No, my friend, it’s weed.”

Kurapika paused. “Weed,” he said. “What kind of weed?”

The stranger threw back his head and burst into laughter again, this time not stopping for a good long moment. Kurapika flushed in irritation, then noticed the smell of the smoke again, the laxness in the stranger’s arms and legs, the slight pink tinge to his sclera. There was still an alertness to his posture, as would be expected for any Hunter on a day’s business; but there was almost a drunken quality to his laughter. It dawned on him. “You’re smoking marijuana,” he said.

“Ding ding ding!” The stranger laughed harder. “He gets it! Oh, beautiful. You’ve made my day today, sweetheart. Please, take a hit. For me.”

Kurapika didn’t know what possessed him at that moment. He didn’t like drinking: there was nothing appealing to him about the loss of control, the looseness, the lurching steps. He’d never had the desire or occasion to dabble in anything else, though he’d known it existed, in some abstract way, and that most of it was bountifully available to him now that he was a Hunter, unbound by many of the restrictions that applied to laymen. There was something about the genuine laughter and playfulness in the stranger’s tone, in the steadiness of the hand holding out the joint, in the sudden unfamiliarity of it all.

And honestly, the day felt like a bust anyway.

The stranger cheered and punched the air as Kurapika took the joint from his fingers and puffed on it carefully, drinking the smoke into his lungs for a moment and then letting it stream out through his nose. It burned in his chest and stung on the way back up, which felt oddly satisfying: Kurapika closed his eyes and focused on the sensation as it dripped through him, making the hairs on his skin prickle and his eyes water.

“Fuckdamn,” the stranger said admiringly, startling Kurapika’s eyes open. “You sure you’ve never smoked before? You just took that shit like a pro.”

“Never,” Kurapika said. He took stock of his body: the burning in his chest was subsiding, and he felt a little lightheaded from the smoke. Besides that, he didn’t notice anything amiss. He took another hit.

The stranger made an amused noise, watching him. “You might wanna go easy on that, wait for it to settle in,” he said. He didn’t sound too concerned. He held out a hand, and Kurapika passed the joint back to him. He lifted it to his lips. “So, I take it you weren’t looking for Mama Jana and her bountiful wisdom?”

“I’m looking for work,” Kurapika said.

The stranger hummed. “Well, better luck next time. Sorry you got pranked. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to find a decent gig, new as you are. There’s an agency two blocks that way—” he gestured with one hand— “a real one, swear on my great-great-grandpops— they usually have clients that hire junior Hunters in teams. Though you seem like the type of guy that works alone.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Kurapika said. “I’m looking for a client with connections to the auction in York Shin. That’s all.”

The stranger did a double take. “Really,” he said, and paused for a long moment. “You might have a harder time with that.”

Kurapika shrugged. He was beginning to feel a mild floaty sensation about his body, and he paced a little, keeping his eyes up and relaxing his gaze into his periphery, getting his bearings. He didn’t feel sluggish in the way he associated with alcohol, but the weed was definitely playing with his senses. He thought suddenly that it might be time for him to head back to his room. Why had he trusted this complete stranger enough to take drugs from him? The decision seemed unimaginably stupid for a moment.

But no, the stranger had already been smoking the joint, and he was doing so again, puffing peaceably away. He wouldn’t have laced it and then smoked it himself. Kurapika nodded to himself, satisfied. A little tingle of relief sparked up and down his spine. He felt much better. He stopped pacing, looked down at his shoes, and placed his feet neatly next to one another. He wiggled his toes. He took a deep breath. The fresh air swept into his lungs with a great leaping eagerness, and his body tingled all over for a moment: his senses felt heightened. The colors of the storefronts looked more vivid, somehow, and the low hum of evening activity around them sounded bright and sharp.

He looked back over at the stranger, who was gazing off down the street. “Why would you stand around getting high?” Kurapika said. “Aren’t you worried about having your defenses down?”

The stranger laughed. “Taking candy from strangers, and you’re asking _me_ that?” he said. He looked at Kurapika, and saw immediately that he wouldn’t be getting an answer. “I’m not on a job, c’mon. I’m meeting up with some friends for drinks tonight. Even Hunters gotta take a break. Besides, I’m not in the habit of making enemies. Are you?”

His tone was jesting, but his smile fell away at the stony expression on Kurapika’s face. “Man,” he said. Then, “I’m about to put this out. Want a last hit?”

Kurapika accepted it. He breathed the smoke into his lungs again, handed it back. “Thank you,” he said, because it seemed like the polite thing to say, and began turning to leave. “I should be heading home.”

“Aw, hold on— what’s your name?”  
“Kurapika.”

“Kurapika. I’m Boris. Good to meet you.”

“You as well,” Kurapika said, half turned, his weight still on his back foot.

“Kurapika, I might know of somewhere you can find the type of clients you’re looking for. No guarantee they’ll consider you, but I can write down the directions if you give me a sec.”

“Alright,” Kurapika said. Boris nodded. He stubbed out the joint on the brick wall of the storefront and slipped it in his pocket, then pulled out a pen and notepad from that same pocket. He wrote for nearly a minute, then ripped out the piece of paper and handed it to Kurapika. “There. It doesn’t have a listed address, but I wrote out the directions for you to get there starting from this location. You passed the Hunter exam— you shouldn’t have any trouble with it.” He smiled.

“Thank you,” Kurapika said. He didn’t look at the paper.

“I also wrote down my number.”

“Okay,” Kurapika said, and put the paper in his pocket.

Boris didn’t stop smiling, entirely, but he raised his eyes heavenward for a moment. “Always this, Boris,” he said to himself, not bothering to lower his voice. “You never learn.” He lowered his gaze back to Kurapika. “Don’t bother contacting me for anything work related,” he clarified. “Save my number under ‘Strictly Recreational’.”

“Okay,” Kurapika said. After a moment, he cracked a smile. It seemed like the thing to do.

Boris relaxed visibly. “Alright, alright. Go home, you odd creature.”

Kurapika lifted a hand in a half-wave, turned, and started down the street.

_So,_ he thought half an hour later, lying on his back in the cramped sleeping area of the room he was renting week-to-week, _I should have seen this coming._ His stomach rumbled its acute displeasure. He’d already ransacked the cabinets, but he rarely kept more than a few meals’ worth of food on hand at a time, and tonight he’d had the singular experience of coming home lightly baked to find nothing in the kitchenette but a can of mixed preserved fruits, some room temperature butter, and a quarter loaf of bread. He’d eaten it all, then crawled onto his sleeping pad and tried to ignore the pangs. _I don’t need anything more,_ he told himself. _It’s just the drug._ Somehow it didn’t sound particularly convincing, even in his own mind.

He sighed and pulled out the piece of paper Boris had given him. Would this lead be the one that took him where he needed to go? Kurapika was willing to talk to anyone if he thought they had information that would help him, but he struggled sometimes to figure out what it was that made people open up. He’d discovered ages ago that asking people directly for information could have the opposite effect, make people cagey and resistant— but he’d never found a consistent alternative. Probably his neighbor, a retired Hunter with a shock of white hair and a forest of laugh lines, had taken one look at Kurapika’s fresh face and formal tone and decided pranking him would be more fun than giving him a straight answer. Politeness only went so far; friendliness was what made people comfortable. _But how am I supposed to be friendly with someone if we aren’t friends?…_

Boris had certainly had no trouble. Kurapika sighed again. The peculiar floaty sensation in his body had intensified, as did the tingling in his skin and his heightened senses. On the walk home, he’d catalogued a few moments of mild vertigo, mostly caused when he would focus intensely on a flower or a bird or a crack in the street that caught his eye, then realize what was happening and snap his eyes forward. He’d also felt the prickling gaze of strangers on his back a few times, and turned around to see and sense nothing but the sun dipping languidly into the horizon. He’d been relieved to reach home, to buzz his keycard to open the lobby door, to take the narrow yellow stairs up to his room and lock the door behind him.

He let his thoughts spin out into the distance for a moment, and deliberately made himself relax on his sleeping pad. He could still taste the syrupy sweetness of the canned fruit in the back of his throat. He breathed slowly, and as he did so, he observed the intangible softness that seemed to settle over his entire being. It was as though the air around him had liquefied, hovering against his skin and trickling around him like a warm bath. _This isn’t so bad…_

He slept dreamlessly.

In the morning, he hesitated for only a moment before typing Boris’s number into his phone. _SAVE CONTACT,_ he selected, and then typed out, _Boris._ He deleted it. He typed out, _Strictly Recreational._ He deleted it. He typed out, _WEED._

_____ _

__

_____ _

__Boris had been delighted when he heard Kurapika’s voice over the phone. “I would’ve bet hard cash on you never calling me,” he said. “What’s up? Did you check out the agency?”_ _

_____ _

__“I thought you said not to call you about work,” Kurapika said. “But no, not yet. I’ll go tomorrow.”_ _

_____ _

__“I did say that, didn’t I? So I guess you called just to hear my dulcet tones?”_ _

_____ _

__Kurapika winced. “Not exactly,” he said. He explained what he was looking for._ _

_____ _

__There was a long pause. Kurapika was sure he’d made some kind of misstep. Then Boris whooped so loudly with laughter that Kurapika had to hold his phone away from his ear. “Man, you can’t make this shit up!” he said. “My little homegrown stash! Making moves! I’m so proud. No, but really, I was _so_ lying about it being top shelf. I’m happy to sell you some, but I only really grow as a hobby. I’d feel bad if you didn’t get to try the good stuff, too.”_ _

_____ _

__“Okay,” Kurapika said. “I mean, yours was fine. I don’t need anything fancy.”_ _

_____ _

__“You’re sweet. I can stop by later today if you’re staying nearby.”_ _

_____ _

__“Yeah.” Kurapika, thinking quickly, gave him the address of an apartment building a few streets over. “Just tell me when. I have other things I need to do today.”_ _

_____ _

__“Of course you do. Six okay?”_ _

_____ _

__“Sure.”_ _

_____ _

__

_____ _

__Boris gave him a knowing look when he ambled up to him outside North Brook Apartments that evening. “Swanky,” he said, acknowledging Kurapika’s bluff. He walked over to a squat, gnarled tree at the edge of the lot and leaned up against it as Kurapika trailed after him. He tossed Kurapika a small opaque gray bag. It was heavier than Kurapika expected. “Threw in a grinder for you too. Eight thousand jenny still okay?”_ _

_____ _

__Kurapika handed him the money. “Thanks,” he said._ _

_____ _

__“Don’t mention it. I can’t be your plug, though, if you want any more later on. I wrote down a website you can get into with your Hunter License. You’ll find everything you could possibly want on there.”_ _

_____ _

__“Oh. Thank you.”_ _

_____ _

__Boris cocked an eye at him. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll take off. Unless you wanna go get drinks or something?”_ _

_____ _

__“Didn’t you just go out last night?”_ _

_____ _

__Boris burst into laughter. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m outmatched. I’ll see you around, Kurapika. Don’t be a stranger.”_ _

_____ _

__

_____ _

__Kurapika was in his new apartment just outside the Nostrade estate, unpacking his belongings, when a familiar opaque gray bag fell out of his toiletries with a soft rustle. He was running low, but it hadn’t occurred to him to visit the website Boris had written down for him: he didn’t smoke on the job, after all. _No matter how tempting it might be,_ he thought._ _

_____ _

__In fact, these days, he only smoked with Melody, who had approached him early one morning before their shift together and said in amused tones, “You know, Kurapika, if you wanted to smoke together sometime, I wouldn’t turn you down.”_ _

_____ _

__Kurapika had stared at her, thinking, _Of course she knows!_ It occurred to him distantly that he’d put his job at risk, by continuing to smoke discreetly when he was off duty. Sure, Melody’s hearing ability gave her access to information that most others would find hard to come by, but that wasn’t an excuse for his own carelessness._ _

_____ _

__“There’s no need to worry, Kurapika,” Melody had said. “We all have our off-duty hobbies.” There was still laughter in her voice._ _

_____ _

__“Of course. It’s just vital for me to keep this job…”_ _

_____ _

__“Nobody else knows. I think Basho would be delighted if you invited him along, though.”_ _

_____ _

__Kurapika had smiled. “Let’s keep it to two,” he’d said. “I don’t want to get too popular too fast. The boss might not take that well.”_ _

_____ _

__Melody had smiled, and that had been that._ _

_____ _

__The two of them already spent occasional time together outside of work: Melody enjoyed having company when taking care of domestic tasks, like laundry or shopping; and Kurapika could appreciate that companionship once in a while— just as much as he appreciated Melody’s gentle understanding when he turned her down. Now, though, they would also retire to Melody’s apartment once every week or two and get absolutely baked. Or, more accurately, Melody would get baked and Kurapika would get mildly stoned off of the pleasant but apparently low-potency weed Boris had sold him all those months ago._ _

_____ _

__Melody was a lightweight, and she enjoyed being a lightweight. She barely cut into Kurapika’s stash, and he refused her offers to pay him back. She was content to puff away and stare dreamily at the ceiling for a while before inevitably getting to her feet and heading for the kitchen. She had the wisdom of some years that Kurapika still lacked, and so not only kept her kitchen fully stocked, but also had the patience to cook while stoned. She’d made some kind of baked pasta dish the first time they’d smoked together, and Kurapika remembered staring at her in unbelieving joy as she handed him a fork and instructed him to eat right out of the pan. “You are the smartest person I know,” he’d said, and, “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Melody had blushed and then bubbled over with laughter. “It’s because you’re high,” she’d said, patting him on the shoulder. Kurapika had found this inexplicably offensive. “I promise it’s good,” he’d said. “It is so important that you understand how good this food is. I’ll prove it. I’ll eat the leftovers when I’m sober.” There were, of course, no leftovers._ _

_____ _

__Kurapika sighed and picked up the bag from where it had fallen. He paused for a moment, then reached inside and pulled out the note with Boris’s handwriting. He grabbed his laptop from its bag and sat down on the bed, looking closely at the note for the first time. It read: **YOUKNOWWHATITIS.H**_ _

_____ _

__Kurapika blinked, skeptical. Boris had said this was a legitimate Hunter website, though, so he typed it into his laptop browser and hit _ENTER.__ _

_____ _

__Immediately his screen lit up with garish colors. The website read **YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS!** along the header, in a particularly eye-searing shade of lime green. Underneath, in smaller letters: **Please scan your Hunter License.**_ _

_____ _

__Kurapika slipped his Hunter License out of his wallet and scanned it in the laptop’s card slot. The screen blinked and wavered for a long moment, and then it flipped to a new screen. The header remained at the top of the page, but now there was a subheading: **ONLINE ORDERS ONLY. NEN FINGERPRINT REQUIRED. YES, EVERY TIME. 10% WHINER TAX.** There was a menu on the left side of the screen, and a whole host of captioned images rotating slowly in the middle. Kurapika looked at the collection of vaguely phallic bongs labeled **NEN-COMPATIBLE** taking up center stage, and nearly closed out of the website entirely._ _

_____ _

__Instead, he spent about twenty minutes toggling between the different menu options, before giving up and purchasing the **SURPRISE ME! MYSTERY COLLECTION.** Whoever ran the website was clearly the type of person who relished in programming all sorts of unnecessary hoops for Nen users to jump through, and had dedicated to this endeavor all the time they hadn’t bothered spending on halfway decent graphic design. Attempting to submit payment sent Kurapika to a page labeled **FINGERPRINT PUZZLE BOX!** A gray cube seemed to hover just in front of the screen, with a blank text box beneath it. By the time he’d figured out he had to use his Nen to look inside the cube and then solve the personal code it gave him, he’d used up his patience. His shift was due to start in two hours, so Kurapika grabbed the toiletries bag that had started everything and headed for the shower._ _

_____ _

__He’d finish unpacking later._ _

_____ _

**Author's Note:**

> Ging's website is called what it is because I couldn't decide what else to call it.
> 
> If anyone wants to come up with a Fantasy Weed Name for this universe, let me know.


End file.
